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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906546">I Found</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Villulv24/pseuds/Villulv24'>Villulv24</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Alienist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1890, Angst, M/M, New York, Period Piece, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:00:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,344</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906546</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Villulv24/pseuds/Villulv24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>During a seemingly never-ending case, Dr. Kreizler and John find themselves exhausted as they look through evidence. Will a mental break do them more good than harm? Or the exact opposite? (This is my first piece shared on this platform, so please be kind!)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Moore/Laszlo Kreizler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Flattering To The Eye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was meant to be a one-shot type of story, so forgive me for the lack of length. Nevertheless, please enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John sat with his head in his palm as he jadedly watched the doctor read over a stack of notes from days prior. A fire softly crackled from across the room, a warm glow gently licking the left of the man, creating a shadow that highlighted the soft curves of Laszlo’s face. It hugged the neat, chocolate hair that dressed the top of his head and the wiry beard that clung to his jaw and cheeks. Yet, it was the polished rims of gold that stood out the most. They reflected the light back into John’s eyes which shimmered with every movement the doctor made. </p>
<p>“Is there something that you need, John?” Kreizler asked, looking at Moore over the top of his glasses. </p>
<p>Had he been staring?</p>
<p>The artist cleared his throat as he adjusted his position on the chair. “No, no, just thinking is all.” John replied.</p>
<p>“Hmm.” The alienist hummed. A single nod of his, then he returned back to his work.</p>
<p>In an attempt to distract him from the uncomfortable situation, John flipped open his portfolio to a new, blank sheet. With a lead pencil in hand, the man began to sketch across the page. There was no rigidity to his movements. Each stroke was filled with purpose, yet appeared effortless by his many years of practice. Occasionally, his eyes would flicker upwards to catch his subject, then quickly return back down before the image fleeted from memory.</p>
<p>In time, the lines became more defined and depth filled the negative space. </p>
<p>John sleepily smiled down at his finished creation before he allowed exhaustion to finally take hold. His wary head fell off to the side and his pencil was left limp in his grasp. His signature, surprisingly, left halfway complete before it trailed off into oblivion in an erratic manner. </p>
<p>Meanwhile, the irritation from lack of progress had put Laszlo in a sour mood. He pulled off his spectacles and tossed them onto the table, only to then pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. When he decided to look up, his eyes were immediately met with the sight of his slumbering friend. A soft sigh fell past his nose before he pushed himself up from his chair and made his way over to John.</p>
<p>Kreizler’s brown hues roamed over the visage of the clean-shaven male. He seemed peaceful, happy, unlike the mask he put on everyday. This face, the sleeping one, had no reason to hide. It was pure. Laszlo was almost jealous, that was, until he came across the sketch in John’s lap. The paper was obscured partly by the artist’s arms, which only drove his curious mind further. </p>
<p>“What have we here, John?” Laszlo whispered to himself. He then leaned down and pinched the cuff of the sleeve, only to then carry the arm far enough off the page for him to see the full drawing.</p>
<p>He drank in the details of the illustration as if he was. The loose lines formed a familiar likeness, one he knew all too well - for it was his very own.</p>
<p>His bearded lips pressed into a hint of a smile, flattered. “I do not believe one is born with innate talents since most things can be learned given time, but if I did, I would say you have honed your craft quite impressively.” He continued to examine the artwork before his gaze returned back to John’s sleeping face. His mouth hung slightly agape as if to speak, but closed after a second thought.</p>
<p>Kreizler walked towards the other chair, removed a folded blanket that sat on the arm of it, and draped it over the front of his friend. “Sleep well, my friend.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Portfolio</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>John finds himself in Laszlo’s study from the night before, but something’s different. Did Laszlo find the sketch?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wow! I didn’t expect to get such an audience (be it small, but huge for me!) for my first work/chapter of this story! I’m so glad you all love it. With that being said, enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The morning sun filtered through dainty drapes and over John’s sleeping form. It didn’t take long before he began to stir in his seat and allow his eyes to blink open.</p><p>The groggy man scanned about the room with blurred vision, confused at first, but soon remembering that he had dozed off the night prior in the Institute. “For Christ’s sake...” He softly cursed into the empty study. As he sat himself up, the wool blanket as well as his portfolio, which were piled on top of him, fell to onto the wooden floor with a dull thud. </p><p>Dark brows knitted together as he took notice of the fallen items. He had not remembered putting on a blanket. All he had recalled was, “The sketch.” Both of his hands fumbled for the folder of loose drawings. He opened the divider and there, in the front, was the portrait of Laszlo and his unruly signature. “Wonderful. Now he thinks I draw /and/ write like a child.” John snickered and shook his head in disbelief, only to slam the portfolio closed. “How could I be so goddamn foolish?”</p><p>It was then that the door to the library slowly creaked open. Moore’s attention quickly snapped up towards the source of the sound and instinctively tucked the black portfolio underneath his arm. His face flushed with color as if he was caught by a parent doing something unacceptable. “Laszlo.” He said a bit surprised, even though he was in the man’s home.</p><p>“Good morning, John.” The doctor greeted as he walked into the room. He took note of the sudden demeanor change in his friend, but made the decision not to comment - at the moment. “I brought you some tea.”</p><p>“That’s very kind of you.” Moore said with a small, sheepish smile before he took a few steps and retrieved the delicate white cup from the other.</p><p>“I’ll be needing your assistance today,“ The alienist informed. “which is why I cannot have you incapacitated by exhaustion or drowsiness.”</p><p>John subtly rolled his eyes and nodded dejectedly, not in the least bit surprised at Kreizler’s selfish intentions.</p><p>Nevertheless, the clean-shaven male took the cup and brought it up to his lips, sipping at the hot beverage. The warmth was a welcoming embrace, which had soothed his worries over the happenings of last night, but only for a moment.</p><p>When the silence became too heavy to bear, John cleared his throat to speak. “I apologize f—“</p><p>“—It resembles my likeness quite well.” Laszlo was already at his desk, looming over scattered sheets of paper. Again, he fingered through them, hoping to find something new - something he had overlooked from nights prior. </p><p>The artist’s mouth hung agape while face twisted with confusion as he was cut off mid-sentence. Had he heard him correctly? “Pardon?”</p><p>“Your drawing. It is I who was your subject in that piece, correct?” He paused, and Moore feared the man would look up - luckily, he didn’t. “Your penmanship, I noticed, needs a bit of work, but I suspect that the wayward signature was a result of exhaustion.” His gaze never left the pages, still searching - or at least appeared to be. </p><p>Again, John’s face, including the tips of his ears, was set alight at the mentioning of his sketch. His eyes bore into the bottom of his glass, frantically trying to find shelter from the sudden embarrassment. Laszlo was never supposed to see it. Yet, he was the fool for thinking anything slipped past the man. </p><p>In Moore’s silence, Laszlo glanced up at John - whether it be out of curiosity, concern or worry for his friend, it was uncertain. “Did my compliment make you uncomfortable?”</p><p>John flashed a face of hardness towards the doctor. Kriezler always had to query everything. “It caught me off guard, is all.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Kreizler hummed. “I would like to have it, if that’s alright.”</p><p>The man’s visage flickered in a series of emotions - shock, suspicion, flattery, and acceptance. “Sure.” He finally answered. He then placed his tea aside and pulled out the folder from underneath his arm. He flipped it open and stared at the desired sketch for a long moment before walking it over to Laszlo.</p><p>The doctor’s face grew stern once he looked back at his files. “Put it there.” He said, referring to anywhere on the desk. “I think I found something.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’ll try to update the story once a month (if I get maybe 10 kudos and a few comments?). Like I said before, comments really help me. I get so much joy hearing back from you all. Alrighty, until next time!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If this does well, I’ll post the next part that I still have in the works. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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